


Boundless

by Coww (croixsouillees), Gizzwhizz



Series: Boundless [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Loveless Fusion, HRBB14, M/M, Slow Build, Soulmates, virgins have ears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croixsouillees/pseuds/Coww, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gizzwhizz/pseuds/Gizzwhizz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be branded with a Name is a blessing, a sign that somewhere in the world is another person that you are bound to more surely than with chains of the strongest mithril. A Name is proof of a promised companionship, of belonging. Thorin Oakensheild has lived without his Fighter, the other half of his Name, for nearly two centuries and hardened his heart to the fact that he will likely never find them. Until he comes to the Shire, that is, and suddenly discovers his Fighter in a stuffy little hobbit--who still has his ears!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Hobbit Reverse Big Bang 2014, based on the wonderful prompt from the lovely [Coww](http://archiveofourown.org/users/croixsouillees/pseuds/Coww). Based on the universe of the Loveless manga/anime, though you do not need to know anything about that world to understand this story. This will hopefully be part of a larger series eventually, as I had several other ideas for scenes that I unfortunately just didn't have the time or space to cram into this piece. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. Hit me up on tumblr if you want at [http://gizzwhizz.tumblr.com](http://gizzwhizz.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Now with the wonderful cover art that inspired this story! <http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/image/105439948788>

It was the first word Thorin learned in Westron. The delicate letters were so queer, so thin and impossibly rounded compared to the sharp, blocky script he was used to. And yet, no written word had ever looked so familiar. 

He would spend hours in front of a mirror as a child, sneaking out of bed to trace his fingers along the backwards letters scrawled across his collarbone. He often wondered if somewhere out there someone else wasn't doing the very same thing. He wondered if somewhere his Fighter was wondering about him too. 

Sometimes he would try to picture what that other person must look like, but he could never decide on even the simplest details. Male or female, blonde like his brother or with jet black hair like his own, older or younger or the same age--nothing he imagined ever felt right. And the facelessness only made him miss them terribly, this person that he had never met but always known. Countless childhood afternoons were spent haunting the far reaches of Erebor with Frerin in tow, hoping against hope that he might bump into his other half in an alleyway. But he was never rewarded in those short quests and as he grew older Thorin's hope began to wane. 

Then the dragon came and changed everything. 

For days after Smaug's conquest of the Mountain, Thorin lived in terror. Not for his people or even his family, much to his shame. No, what he feared most was the sudden pain of knowing that his Fighter was gone beyond his reach, that they had died in the chaos and fire without ever meeting Thorin, their Sacrifice. But the days wore on and the ache never grew or lessened and soon the entire problem of his other half was driven from his mind entirely by the problems of his people. 

Decades past, years of sorrow and struggle, and still the yearning remained ever at the back of his mind. Dwalin, his closest companion since childhood, helped ease his loneliness somewhat for the son of Fundin had yet to find his own Sacrifice. They didn't speak of it much, but the knowledge of their shared predicament was enough. They even attempted to Fight together, once, at _Azanulbizar_ when all seemed lost and Thorin burned for the Pale Orc's death. The pain of their mismatched Names lingered afterwards, however, a battle wound all its own, and by unspoken agreement they never attempted such a thing again. 

Then, one autumn, Thorin's longing seemed to blossom and grow a new strength and he dared hope his search might come to an end at last. But the yearning soon retreated like a banked fire and if he thought the ache in his chest was perhaps a bit more acute than before, well that was surely his grief over lost friends and family playing tricks on him. He toyed with the idea of confiding in Dwalin, but by that time his old friend had found his Sacrifice at last and the knowledge that Dwalin was no longer halved as he was marred the previous comfort of their friendship. So Thorin remained quiet and sought other outlets for his frustration. 

Perhaps that was why he threw himself at the idea of the Quest with such fervor. He poured all of his energies into it, recruiting fellows and pitching his plans to generals and lords, until Dis quite gave up trying to talk him out of it and Dwalin lapsed into quite resignation. His longing for the Mountain couldn't match his longing for his other half, but it was a decent enough distraction and one he was happy to channel his thoughts and energies into. For the first time in years he felt himself moving towards something. 

How that Quest had become destined to start in the Shire, of all places in Middle-Earth, he could not quite fathom. However it might have happened, Thorin found himself walking the narrow trails of Hobbiton in the fading light, frowning at every absurd round door he passed. He circled the main hill twice before he recognized the thin chimney for yet another smial at its crest, and had to continue around half of a third time before he found the path leading up to the green door. And so it was that by the time Thorin finally saw the infernal wizard's mark on the corner of the door and raised his hand to knock, he was already feeling quite put upon indeed. 

A soft click announced the latch and then the door swung inward on soundless hinges and all the breath left his body in a great rush. The first thing he noticed was not the unruly mop of honey golden curls nor the matching patches on the creature's great bare feet. He took no note of the innocent ears and long, twitching tail or how soft and round the little being looked compared to dwarven build. He didn't even notice the poor hobbit's slack expression and wide eyes, staring at him in return. 

No. Thorin Oakenshield took in none of those details, with his heart hammering against his sternum and a great rushing sound filling his ears. He was deaf and dumb to all the world except for a small patch of skin exposed at the base of the hobbit's throat, left bare by his patchwork robe and loosely buttoned shirt. Everything narrowed down to those few inches of pale skin where a single familiar word decorated the hobbit's delicate collarbone.

_Boundless._


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to have time for this tonight, since I went and saw BOFA, but it turns out I'm still pretty awake and I needed something happy, dang it. You're welcome. :)

After twelve dwarves and a wizard, Bilbo was quite ready to forgo opening his door to strange knocks after dark altogether, thank you very much. If he thought the guests who had come before could prepare him for the dwarves' leader, however, he was sorely mistaken. 

He would realize later that his ears were ringing long before he reached for the door, but in the fluster and bluster of the evening Bilbo didn't notice until he had already yanked it opened, still juggling a few thick cloaks, and stood face to face with Thorin Oakenshield himself. In an instant the shouts and cries coming from his kitchen were drowned out by a rolling white noise that made his ears twitch and his tail crook. His breath caught somewhere behind his sternum and for an impossibly long moment he simply stood there hanging on the door, staring into wide blue eyes. 

His eyes dropped to the base of the dwarf's throat and he didn't need to see past the layers of clothing and armor to know what was hidden beneath. Indeed, Thorin's gaze had already slid to Bilbo's own Name emblazoned on his bared neck. They stayed that way, merely staring at one another, until the poor hobbit nearly jumped a foot in the air as Gandalf's laid a hand heavily on his shoulder. Bilbo whipped his head up and realized that the old wizard was speaking to him, his hearing slowly beginning to clear as he watched Gandalf's mouth move. 

"...leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield." 

"And this is the burglar?" The deep voice sent a thrill down Bilbo's spine and he jerked his head back to Thorin once more. The dwarf was staring again, though he seemed to have recovered from his initial shock at the door. In two short steps he was standing before Bilbo, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. Bilbo had to crane his head back to hold Thorin's gaze. 

"Have you any skills in fighting?" Thorin said. It was an honest enough question and Bilbo found himself speaking before he had even properly considered his answer. Was the dwarf not even going to acknowledge what they were to each other? Bilbo had imagined meeting his Sacrifice, his other half, more time than he could count and none of those fantasies had ever included being treated like an unwelcome guest in his own home. 

"Erm, well...I have some skill at conkers," Bilbo babbled. Thorin began to circle him and the hobbit twisted in place to follow him, tail crooking behind him and betraying his agitation. "I'd be worse than useless with a sword, though, I expect, if that's what you mean," he finished lamely. Thorin snorted a mirthless laugh. 

"I'm sure. No, I meant as a Fighter," Thorin clarified, waving his hand towards the Name at the hollow of Bilbo's throat. The hobbit's fingers flew to it on instinct. 

_Boundless_

"The folk of the Shire have less cause then most for battles of any sort," Gandalf cut in. "Though I think you will find that Master Baggins here is more than capable of being clever when the situation calls for it." The wizard's hand came down on his shoulder again, sudden enough to make Bilbo's knees wobble. 

Having made a full circuit, Thorin stopped in front of him once more, his face still an impassive mask. Bilbo's tongue felt too large for his mouth, damming the river of questions that wanted to flow out. Didn't Thorin feel the connection between them, the way it thrummed like a fat summer bee now that they stood so close for the very first time? Didn't it make his limbs feel tingly and his head light? Didn't Thorin itch to touch him the way Bilbo burned to reach out to him? Had Thorin dreamed of Bilbo the way Bilbo had dreamed of him without knowing him? For years and years? Didn't he feel anything at all? 

Then Thorin turned his back, having looked his fill apparently. Bilbo sucked in a breath, feeling rather like a snuffed candle. 

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin Oakenshield announced. "Honestly, he still has his ears, Gandalf!" 

"My...ears?" Bilbo mumbled, feeling the appendages in question twitch atop his head. They were honeyed gold, ears and tail both, to match his tawny curls. Of course he still had his ears. Wouldn't that have been a pretty scandal? A bachelor without his ears. Imagine! His neighbors thought his solitude odd enough already, thank you. Besides, for as long as he could remember he had always rather thought his other half be the one to take his ears, if anyone was going to. Nothing else would have been right, surely. 

Bilbo's mind stuttered to a halt and he stared hard at Thorin's back for a moment. His eyes traveled over the dwarf's thick locks of black hair streaked with silver like twigs in a river. He followed the flow of it up to the top of his head. His very bare head. Bilbo's heart had begun to pick up speed again and his eyes dropped to the dwarf's rump with a brazen openness that would have made his poor father blush. No tail of any sort threaded under the heavy blue coat. 

Heat had begun to pool in his cheeks again, as it had at the door, but now it blossomed down his throat as well. His aforementioned ears pressed flat against his skull and his tail flared straight as an arrow, puffed out to twice its normal size. The few abandoned cloaks he still clutched went tumbling to the ground at his feet, his finger suddenly gone numb. One hand rose to point an accusatory finger at Thorin, quite beyond his control. 

"You've lost your ears already!" 

The moment the words left him, he wished he could recall them. His outburst had silenced the noise of the others and in fact several dwarvish heads were peering out of his dining room. Worse still, Thorin had half turned to peer at him over his shoulder, and now his blue gaze was practically chilly. The very air seemed to have stilled. They might have gone on like that forever, standing frozen in this horrible tableau, if not for the wizard's sudden laughter. 

"There, you see!" Gandalf crowed. He offered no further elaboration, but the spell was broken. Thorin blinked at him and then turned back to the dining room with Gandalf trailing behind him. In a moment they were gone, disappeared into the room and swallowed up in the renewed babble of the other dwarves. 

Bilbo was left standing in his front hall, towering righteously over a heap of cloaks and pointing at nothing. Dwarves. Really! 

 

*** 

 

Balin had donned his slim spectacles, his bright eyes skimming their contract as he read out the terms of payment should they successfully retake the Mountain. The words were as familiar as his own hands, but Thorin barely registered them. 

The hobbit was stuttering and fidgeting behind him, giving a rather undignified squeak at the mention of funeral arrangements. It took everything Thorin had not to twist in his seat and stare at him. Somehow, being in the same room wasn't enough. He needed to see him. Indeed, the air had seemed impossibly thicker ever since he had turned his back on their little host. He kept his eyes fixed on his half-cold soup instead, gripping a rather fine silver spoon until the poor utensil bowed out of shape. 

For the first time in ages, years possibly, Erebor was the furthest thing from Thorin's mind, but he was determined not to show it. And he might have succeeded, had the hobbit not decided to give a pitiful little moan at the Bofur's enthusiastic description of dragons and drop to the floor like a sack of flour. 

Thorin was up before the dull thud had stopped reverberating in his ears. He brushed past the wizard without even seeing him and crouched beside the unconscious hobbit. Bilbo Baggins was impossibly pale, each cheek marred by a high bloom of color just under his closed eyes. Thorin didn't know he was reaching to touch one of those crimson spots until it was too late. 

Sensation shot up his arm as his fingers brushed cool skin--something like burning and freezing at the same time winding its way into his bones. The whining noise was back, making his head buzz. And amidst it all was something warm and light bubbling in his chest, something that felt like the inviting heat of a forge and the thrill of solid granite under bare feet. 

Just as suddenly as it started, the feeling retreated and was gone. Thorin blew out a ragged breath, feeling like an emptied jug. He blinked blearily in the harsh candlelight of the room and realized he was crouched alone on the floor. Gandalf stood over him with the limp hobbit in his arms, making some excuse about "queer little fits" before sweeping away into the next room. 

Thorin watched him go and then stood stiffly to reclaim his seat.

 

***

 

It was well after most of the others had fallen asleep (on pillows and spare blankets draped all over the crowded sitting room) that Thorin snuck outside. The night was cool without being chill and full of the silver twinkle of starlight in high summer. He had spied a bench under the tree at the crest of the hill that Bag End was built into and Thorin made for it now, already pulling his pipe out. 

His desire to be alone would have been clear to any of the Company awake to see him, and yet he wasn't surprised in the least when Dwalin appeared at his elbow some minutes later. Thorin passed the pipe to him silently and waited while his old friend breathed deep and blew twin streams of smoke through his nose. 

"He's an odd little fellow. Not what I expected," Dwalin rumbled. 

"Certainly not the burglar Gandalf promised us." Thorin raised the pipe again and choked when an elbow connected with his ribs sharply. 

"Don't pretend to misunderstand me. It's beneath you," Dwalin drawled, snatching the pipe back. Thorin let him, too busy thumping his chest. They lapsed into silence, listening to the wind shift through the branches over their heads. 

"I cannot put him in such danger," Thorin said finally, almost too low to hear. 

"He's your Fighter," Dwalin said, shrugging when Thorin looked at him sharply. "Nothing will change that." He took a final puff on the cooling pipe and handed it back. He blew out the thin cloud heavily and leaned forward to rest his tattooed arms on his knees. "Maybe Gandalf's right about him." 

It was the wrong thing to say, and Dwalin knew it full well, even as he said it anyway. As such, he did nothing to stop his old friend when Thorin knocked the spent pipe out against the bench and abruptly stood. 

"We leave in the morning. Master Baggins has no stake in Erebor and it was wrong of us to impose upon him." Dwalin watched him retreat back down the winding stone path and disappear around the side of the smial. He shook his head and sat back once more to gaze up at the stars over the empty green fields of the Shire.


	3. Of Ponies and Trolls

_The golden stalks rose over the hobbit's head, swaying in the gentle breeze. He was no farmer, his knowledge limited to tomatoes and his mother's favorite flowers, but even Bilbo knew it had been a good year for the wheat to grow so tall. He stood in only his shirt sleeves, the light cotton rolled to his elbows in the summer heat.  
_

_Bilbo slipped between the stalks, the nimble plants bending easily as he nudged his way through. Insects chirped in the heat of the afternoon. As he moved forward, their buzz began to swell all around him until it seemed to be inside his very skull. The sound made his tawny ears twitch and quite suddenly he realized it wasn't the insects at all that he was hearing anymore.  
_

_His heart leaped against his ribs as he surged forward. Soon he was flinging his arms out before him, shoving the wheat aside violently enough to dislodge grain to rain down upon him. Bilbo paid it no heed, not even considering the harsh words that any farmer would have for him to see him treating their crop so roughly.  
_

_He had been here before, countless times; he knew that to be a fact despite having no memory of this place. He also knew what was to come next, knew that he would stumble through the field with that sound pulsing in his veins only to come upon the vaguest outline of a person through the grain. No matter what he did, he could never get close enough to discern any details, only knew that there was someone there. Someone waiting.  
_

_That was how it had always gone, this dream, for as long as he could remember. As the years passed he had grown and the wheat had seemed less towering and insurmountable, but the ending never changed. He never found who he was searching for.  
_

_Now, well into his middle years, Bilbo charged through the field with all the enthusiasm of youth. A shadow loomed through the stalks ahead and he pushed forward despite knowing he would never reach it.  
_

_Except this time the distance closed just as it should. This time he shoved his way clear into an oasis of grass and sunshine amidst the sea of wheat. This time a tall figure dressed in the deepest blues stood with his back to the sprinting hobbit and turned just as Bilbo tripped over his own feet in surprise and would have plowed into him--_

 

Bilbo woke with a start. His legs had tangled in his sheets during the night and it took a bit of flailing and grunting to throw them off. He sat squinting like a rabbit in the morning sun slanting through his window. Finally, he shrugged on his robe and stumbled out his bedroom door, into his very abandoned sitting room. 

He wandered from room to room in a daze, finding no sign of his previous night's guests. By the time he circled back to the sitting room, he was wringing his hands and trying very, very hard not to think of Thorin Oakenshield standing in a wheat field because that was simply absurd. 

Once his eyes lit on the contract, conveniently left behind on a side table, however, he really had no choice in the matter at all anymore. It was a bit unfair, really, but Bilbo was practical enough not to dwell on what was fair. 

Sadly, though, he was not practical enough to remember a handkerchief when he hastily stuffed a pack with whatever was within arm's reach and fled his front door no less than fifteen minutes later.

 

***

 

Being teased and hoisted onto the back of a pony with as much ceremony as a sack of flour was hardly how Bilbo had expected to be greeted when he caught his dwarvish companions up. Somehow, though, all of that seemed in great fun compared to Thorin Oakenshield's dismissive glance. Surely the dwarf had felt the same lift to his heart and chimes in his ears that Bilbo had when he drew close to the group, the feeling making him forget his already puffing breath and sweating brow and push forward with new speed down the dirt path. Bilbo had no idea how old Thorin was, but he had gotten the sense from the snippets of conversation his had managed to catch the night before that though they looked of an age, Thorin must surely be older than Bilbo by at least a good century. And he had lived all that long life with the acute ache of his other half's absence, just as Bilbo had. Surely, then, Thorin must have felt how much sharper it had been this morning, worsened a hundred fold by their brief meeting. 

Yet, the noble dwarf showed no sign that he cared one whit whether Bilbo had come or not. The whole thing made Bilbo's tail twitch irritably atop his mount. 

Soon enough, however, Bilbo had plenty else to distract him from his Sacrifice's cold shoulder. He had never ridden a pony for any real length of time and in short order his thighs took to aching and trembling, the insides rubbed raw by the second day of their travels. And the poor hobbit was allergic to his mount, besides, and spent a good portion of their first days on the road grumbling and snuffling into Bofur's pocket-handkerchief. But, of course, none of that even compared to the fact that Bilbo quickly discovered he should not expect his stomach to be full at any point during this little adventure, not with companions who failed to see the merits of eating more than twice a day with only a midday snack on pony-back in between. 

Yes, it was safe to say that Bilbo quickly grew quite sick of all this adventuring business and if it were not for the dwarf who shared his Name he might have told them all "terribly sorry, but thank you anyway" after the first night of sleeping on hard ground with tree roots digging into his back whichever way he rolled. As it was, he pressed on and every day plotted how he might approach the stoic dwarf once they made camp at night, and every night he found himself too sour and miserable to attempt much conversation at all. The ever merry Bofur took to chatting him up around dinner, though Bilbo rarely offered more than a few mumbled words, just enough to be sure the dwarf knew he was listening. He was perhaps the friendliest of their Company, at least to Bilbo, and the hobbit did find the stubby dog-like tail the dwarf sported endearing, as well as his lopsided hat that must hide a pair of floppy ears. While Bilbo knew he meant well, however, Bofur's always cheerful demeanor was more than a little grating on nights when he sat gingerly on his aching backside and tried not to show his disappointment at the thin soup he'd been given. 

They fell into a kind of routine as the days passed and slowly Bilbo found himself adjusting, perhaps even against his will. His body ached and he was always too hot, too cold, or too hungry, but these things became shockingly normal, not that that stopped Bilbo from wishing desperately for his little hobbit hole left far behind him now. He even grew used to their camps, rugged though they were, and found himself with more and more spare energy each night to listen raptly to stories of the lives of his companions and the hardships they had faced, particularly ones that involved Thorin. At some point he began to think, somewhere in the very back and very Tookish chambers of his mind, that he might come through this adventure none too much the worse for wear after all. 

And then it began to rain. Being stiff and sore and clinging to a pony's back was nothing compared to being _wet_ and stiff and sore and clinging to a pony's back. The dampness quelled Bilbo's allergies somewhat, but the smell of wet pony clung unpleasantly to the inside of his nose and the poor beast would toss his head now and then, flinging droplets up into the hobbit's eyes. His ears twitched with each raindrop until his head was pounding from the constant movement. For the first time it appeared many of the other dwarves were just as miserable as he was, though this did little to ease the hobbit's own suffering. He also noted that, as always, the only one who refused to complain was Thorin himself. 

Bilbo watched their leader's hunched back as they road for some time, tugging the collar on his coat up and wishing he had a hood as many of his luckier companions did. He found himself actually looking forward to curling up on a patch of ground tonight, dry if he could manage it, after such a miserable march. A quiet night would be more than welcome, rain or no.

 

***

 

Going after the ponies was the maddest thing he had ever done, he was quite sure of that. Bilbo rolled to his feet as quickly as he could, half tripping in his rush to get out of the way as the small troll camp erupted into chaos. Dwarves poured through the trees, though none of them seemed to be doing much damage from what Bilbo could glimpse. 

His poor ears, coated in troll snot, twitched and were filled with an incessant ringing that made his spine straighten of its own accord. Bilbo glanced over his shoulder and there was little Ori, his face drawn into an ugly scowl and his slingshot drawn, with Dwalin looming over him, both axes at the ready. 

"We declare a spell battle," their voices rose in unison, one high and cracking with the effort of shouting and the other rumbling like thunder. " _Wordless_!" 

The breath was knocked from Bilbo's chest as the air around him seemed to fill with energy. His entire body tingled with it. Fighter though he was, Bilbo had never felt what it was to stand in the middle of a Battle. His shiver had nothing to do with the chill of cooling troll snot. 

"Eh?" was Bert's intelligent response but then Dwalin snarled something, something clearly in his own language and as close to a clap of thunder as Bilbo had ever heard produced from a living creature. Half a second later Bilbo was blinded and thrown off his feat landing sprawled and dazed on the forest floor. His ears were ringing again, though the sound seemed to be rooted deeper in his head this time. He thought he could hear the troll cursing and stamping about, but it all sounded very far off suddenly. And for just a moment he imagined he heard Thorin too, roaring something over the chaos that might have been his name. His disorientation was completed when something pinched at each of his limbs, hauling him into the air. 

"Tha's enough now, I say! Lay down yer weapons or we'll rip 'is arms off!" 

Bilbo blinked down at his companions, who had all frozen below him. He found Thorin's piercing blue gaze for the space of a heartbeat, the dwarf's face as unreadable as ever, and felt shame roll through him when Thorin threw his sword down. It took a sharp look from Thorin, but Ori and Dwalin threw down their weapons as well and the air cleared like a passing storm, leaving Bilbo shivering and feeling rather vulnerable. 

And then they brought out the sacks.

 

***

 

In the end, Bilbo was rather proud of himself, though no one else seemed to be. He may not have struck up a Battle like Ori and Dwalin, but he managed to save them all the same. Surely that must count for something? And yet only Bofur and Gandalf had bothered to ask after him and judging by the scowl on Thorin's face Bilbo thought it best to keep his distance rather than invite whatever tongue lashing the dwarf had in mind for him. 

The others were still busy burying a few chests from the smelly troll cave when Bilbo called out he was going to trek down to the small stream by their abandoned campsite and wash up a bit. His new little sword firmly in hand, he turned to go without waiting for a reply. When he made it to the stream he sunk to his knees in the mud from the previous day's rain and dipped his hands into the freezing water. He bit back a yelp as he began to rub at his face and neck until his cheeks were raw and smarting in the morning air. He was just peeling off his ruined jacket when footsteps behind him made him twist, one arm still caught in the sleeve, and he would have fallen into the rushing water if the newcomer hadn't snagged his wrist and kept him upright. 

"Easy! Easy, Master Baggins, don't fall in!" Ori piped. Yanked forward by the young dwarf, Bilbo's fell against him rather heavily before he regained his feet. 

"Oh, I'm sorry! I--" Bilbo looked up and trailed off, blinking up at the youngest Ri brother. Ori frowned and tilted his head. 

"What is it, Master Baggins?" He asked. Bilbo's mouth worked a few times but no sound came out. One of the dwarf's tabby ears was perfectly in place but the other was slowly sliding down the curve of Ori's head with each movement he made. 

Finally, Bilbo blinked twice, swallowed firmly, and managed to say without pointing, "Your ear." 

Ori's hands flew to his head and froze when he found the misplaced appendage, his eyes widening so much it might have been comical if Bilbo weren't already half sick from the effects of spending a night terrified and covered in goo. 

"Please! You can't tell my brothers," Ori suddenly hissed, his fingers nimbly securing his faux ear back in place. "Promise me you won't." 

Bilbo sat down heavily and it was only good fortune that there happened to be a fallen log just behind him or he may have done himself damage on the rocky ground. 

"Oh, this is all just a little too much," he groaned, putting his head in his hands, his jacket still half on. "I'm only just a hobbit, you know!" 

He heard Ori sit beside him on the log but was feeling too miserable to pay him any mind just now. The young dwarf was quiet for a while, the both of them listening to the rush and slap of the stream. 

"It must be hard for you, being away from your other half. I was surprised you left your home to come with us, really, once I saw the Name." Bilbo raised his head but Ori wasn't looking at him. Instead he had pulled back one of his knitted gloves and was staring at the letters etched into the back of his hand just below the knuckles: _Wordless_. Bilbo stared at the angular writing and realized Dwalin must of course have a matching brand under his knuckle-dusters. His own cool fingers brushed against the Name at the base of his throat instinctively. 

"I didn't leave anyone behind," he murmured. "My other half...isn't in The Shire." 

Ori looked at him in surprise, straightening up and tugging his glove back down. "Then where are they?" 

Bilbo looked down at his dirty toes. These were Thorin's dwarves and over the last weeks it had been made abundantly clear to him that none of them knew Thorin's Name. Not even his nephews. Somehow it felt like a betrayal to announce something Thorin had chosen to keep secret. Ori apparently took his silence for answer enough and spared Bilbo the need for lying, a small miracle that. 

"Thorin's alone too you know," Ori said after a moment and Bilbo looked up so quickly he nearly wretched his neck. Ori wasn't look at him, fidgeting with a stray thread at the edge of his knitted glove. "Dwalin told me they Fought together once, against the Pale Orc." Ori wrinkled his nose and shook his head while Bilbo only let out a quite breath, thinking of the story Balin had told only a few nights before and how the old dwarf had most certainly left out _that_ little detail. 

"I couldn't imagine," Ori whispered, "Fighting with someone else's partner." He physically shuddered and Bilbo very nearly did the same but held himself in check, trying desperately not to appear too interested. "Dwalin said it hurt, but he thought it must have hurt Thorin more, being the Sacrifice and all." Ori caught his eye and Bilbo could only blink at him, suddenly sure he was about to be caught out. 

"So you see, I think this is all he has, really. Taking the Mountain back, I mean. I don't think he means to be so...well...you know. But he's alone. I just thought you should know," Ori finished with a shrug. 

For a long moment Bilbo could only stare at him, his mind whirling with this new information. The ache in his chest was as bad as it had been on the morning when he awoke to find Bag End deserted and his Sacrifice gone only hours after they had finally, finally met. He wanted to grab Ori's shoulders and shake the young dwarf, to yell _'But he's not alone, don't you see!'_

Instead, Bilbo stood abruptly and yanked his jacket off the rest of the way. He turned the red velvet over in his hands and marched back to the river bank, not caring if Ori thought him rude. "There's no saving it now, but at least it might be cleaned," he declared, moving towards a large rock he could beat the sticky fabric against. 

He didn't notice when Ori left; he was only glad to be left alone for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin fights with Khuzdul onomatopoeia. Because he's a badass like that.


	4. Battles in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, Christmas understandably dominated most of my life this week. 
> 
> Some dialogue lovingly taken from "The Hobbit."

Rivendell was _nice_. It was safe, it was warm, it was _dry_. Best of all, there was enough food to eat for the first time on this blasted adventure, even if most of the dwarves turned their noses up to the leafy greens. And yet, Bilbo found that despite all of the care and comforts they were afforded he could find no relaxation in the Last Homely House. Not while Thorin brooded about their very presence there.

His Sacrifice made no secret of exactly how he felt about being tricked into accepting elven hospitality, never mind that they had been quite literally chased to Lord Elrond's front door by orcs. The other dwarves at least seemed to take some enjoyment out of making thorough nuisances of themselves--the sight of his companions "bathing" in one of the decorative fountains was not one that Bilbo would soon forget--but Thorin took no part in their merrymaking and instead isolated himself quite thoroughly with a wall of icy temper. Meanwhile Bilbo's heart ached to see his Sacrifice so unhappy, not that Thorin was every exactly happy but this sourness sent a tingling pain dancing across his Name whenever he happened to catch Thorin's eye. 

And so it was that when Thorin declared they would depart in secret while Gandalf was occupied, Bilbo did not even argue. He would have gladly faced trolls again by that point, if only it would improve his partner's mood.

 

***

 

In retrospect, Bilbo supposed that even Thorin's short temper was preferable to being nearly tossed across a canyon by stone giants. Bilbo's knees still felt wobbly when he thought about his fingers slipping uselessly against wet rock. Denied even a fire to try and dry off, Bilbo lay curled miserably in a corner of the cave they had found for some time, listening to the snores around him. 

When he got up to creep to the cave's entrance some time later the rain had let up some and the giants had moved on, but even with the thin moonlight slipping through the clouds darkness lay over the wet rock in treacherous waves. Even had he wished to try, Bilbo knew that attempting to go back to Rivendell in this darkness would only lead to a broken neck. He shivered, but not from the cold so much as the thought that this must be what a mouse in a trap felt like. 

His keen ears twitched at a shuffle behind him and he turned, expecting to see Bofur for he knew the miner was on watch. He could be forgiven his surprise, then, when he found none other than Thorin Oakenshield looming a few steps away, watching him with an unreadable expression in the half-dark of the cave. 

"Thinking of leaving us, Master Baggins?" his deep voice was quieter than Bilbo had ever heard it, though somehow even in a whisper it managed to maintain the hard edge Bilbo had come to associate with it. 

"I..." 

"It's not so far back to the elves. They would welcome you with open arms, I expect." 

Bilbo frowned at Thorin's throat, where armor and leather hid the dwarf's Name. There had been no insult in those words, but Bilbo felt rather put off all the same. 

"Now see here," Bilbo hissed, raising his eyes to meet Thorin's glinting in the dark. "I'm here, aren't I? I've come all this way with you and still you...you..." He ran out of words, spluttering in frustration with his tail twitching madly behind him. Bilbo Baggins squared his shoulders and stared up at the would-be King Under the Mountain, ears laid back against his drying curls. 

"You've told me I'm lost, that I have no business being here, that I am only a burden and a nuisance. But do you know what you've never said to me, Thorin Oakenshield? In all your griping, you have never once told me to leave your side." 

Thorin had until now been standing over the little hobbit, ready to berate him yet again no doubt, but now he drew back as though Bilbo had struck him. His expression was still half hidden by shadow, but Bilbo could see that the dwarf had been thoroughly unprepared for that revelation. It sent a small thrill through his Took side to see the dwarf so taken aback, a feeling that the Baggins in him immediately admonished. 

Finally, Thorin seemed to gather his wits and opened his mouth to offer some response, but a noise made Bilbo's ear twitch again and he held up a hand. 

"Master Bag--" 

"Quiet," Bilbo hissed. Thorin's expression turned thunderous but Bilbo only shushed him again. "Don't you hear that?" he whispered. For the second time Thorin blinked at him, thrown off completely. This time, however, Bilbo had no time to feel pleased by it as the floor dropped out from under them.

 

***

 

It was dark when Bilbo woke after the chaos of Goblin Town. His tail ached sharply and he quickly surmised it was because he had landed on the poor appendage. It crooked unnaturally and touching it made him suck in his breath sharply. Eventually he decided there was nothing for it but to do his best not to jostle it; there was nothing to be done until better light was had to assess the damage. With that in mind, he spent a few moments patting the ground around him in hopes of finding the matches he had carried before the fall. Instead, his fingers brushed against something cold and round. He frowned, picking it up and rolling the ring--for ring it was--in his palm for a moment. It was impossible to make out any details of it in the darkness, and so he slipped it into his pocket to examine later and stumbled to his feet. 

Groping his way down the passage blindly, Bilbo tried his best not to wonder how he was going to find his way out of the darkness. He could feel the ache of separation from Thorin, just as he had on that morning in Hobbiton when he had awoken to find his smial empty of dwarves and wizards. But the ache was all he could feel. Bilbo had heard stories of pairs who could sense where the other was, like an invisible string tying them together. He tried to concentrate, tried to feel for where Thorin might be in this black maze, but there was no sense of where the other was and in the end he only felt rather stupid for trying. Honestly, what had he expected? The two had hardly even exchanged more than a dozen words in their time together, partners or no. 

He was so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn't even notice the echo of water or the smell of damp until his toes splashed into the edge of a pool. He yelped and drew back, nearly falling on his abused tail again. Only when he had caught his breath did he notice something else. 

His ears were ringing, faintly but growing louder and quickly. Fear turned his blood to ice and his fingers fumbled numbly at the short sword at his side, which he had quite forgotten about until just this moment. He drew it with a jerky, unpracticed motion and couldn't stop a cry of surprise when the dull glow it gave off blinded him as surely as sunlight against the darkness. A second cry echoed over his own, croaky and half a snarl. Bilbo blinked rapidly, holding the sword out with an arm that only shook slightly. 

The spots cleared from his vision and what he saw crouched before him nearly made him cry out again. Hunched at the water's edge was the closest thing to a living skeleton that Bilbo had ever seen. The creature was pale, all skin and sharp edges. A pair of twisted, fur-less ears twitched against the wide skull and when he looked down Bilbo saw a thin tail trailing into the water, pink and drooping like a rat's. 

The creature hissed, half raising one skeletal arm to shield its wide, pale eyes. Bilbo stumbled back a step in his surprise with a grimace of his own. 

"What is it, precioussss? Not a goblensies, no. Too small! Too small! _Gollum!_ " 

"N-no. I'm not a goblin!" Bilbo replied, surprised at his own indignant tone. He held the little sword higher aloft to spread the light a bit. "I'm Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire. And who are you?" 

The spindly thing gave another great cough of _gollum_ and crept on all fours from the water's edge to scale a small boulder beside the frightened hobbit. 

"Gollum? Is that your name?" Bilbo tried, but Gollum only regarded him silently with his enormous moon eyes. 

"It makes our earsss ring, preciousss. Could it be?" Gollum whispered, hunching low on his perch so that his boney shoulders rose menacingly on either side of his head. Bilbo blinked and realized it was true. There was indeed that annoying ringing to his ears again as if... 

"Name!" Gollum suddenly demanded. "Tell us your Name, _gollum_!" 

"I already did," Bilbo cried, bewildered. "It's Bilbo Bag--" 

"No, no, no, no!" Gollum cried, launching himself from his rock to splash into the shallow water in something like a toddler's fit. He twisted around, exposing the boney ridges of his back and pointed one knobby finger. 

"Name!" 

Bilbo dared to lean closer and in the dim blue light he could see the letters etched down the protruding line of the creature's spine. _Limitless_. 

He drew back just as quickly, eyes darting wildly to the edges of his small circle of light but it was hopeless, though he knew an underground lake must stretch on before him it was completely masked in darkness. 

"Where is he then? Waiting to jump me from the shadows?" Bilbo demanded, trying to look over his shoulder whilst simultaneously keeping an eye on Gollum before him. 

"What doess it mean, preciousss?" Gollum wondered and when he turned back around there was almost childlike curiosity in his pinched, skull-like face. 

"Your other half! Your Sacrifice!" Bilbo said impatiently. Gollum made a horrible noise then that may have been a laugh or a death rattle and hopped nimbly back to his rock. 

"Where is yours?" he said simply, a horrible and hurtful mirth dancing in his eyes. Bilbo stared at him for a long moment, watching Gollum watching him, before a terrible thought occurred to him. 

"You're alone down here," Bilbo said, half to himself. This time Gollum's laugh was more childish. The noise rang through the chamber around them. 

"Oh yess, yess, but it matters not, _gollum_. We Fight just as well on our own, don't we preciousss? Yess!" 

Bilbo winced at the very idea. He knew it was possible, of course. Balin had told him the story of the Battle of Azanulbizar. How Dwalin had Fought by himself for a time (Ori wasn't even born yet, after all), and he remembered Ori's words of how Thorin had eventually joined him, though the mismatch of their Names hurt them both terribly. Even inexperienced as he was, however, Bilbo knew that wasn't how it should be. Names were important, as were their bonds, and no one should desecrate them so without some great need. 

"I know!" Gollum burst out suddenly, with all the enthusiasm of a child. "We'll Fight. Yess, yess, _gollum_. A Battle! A game!" He leaned forward until Bilbo was sure he would topple off his perch and his rancid breath was hot on Bilbo's face. "If it wins, we'll show it the way out!" 

The final word "out" rang around them, repeating like some awful incantation. 

"And if you win?" Bilbo dared to ask. Gollum grinned, a horrible sight with his sparse and pointy teeth. Spindly arms shot out and only quick reflexes saved Bilbo's life as he shouted and swung his glowing sword to point it at Gollum's throat. The creature backed off immediately, leathery ears laid back and teeth bared, his grin still in place. 

"If we win, then we eats it, preciousss." 

Bilbo's suddenly dry throat clicked when he tried to swallow. He stood there for a moment, on the edge of the cold lake, considering his options. He was more than convinced that he would never make it out of the maze of tunnels on his own and it was surely too much to hope that the others might come looking for him, or indeed that if they did they would ever find him. 

He adjusted his grip on his sword, his arm already growing tired from the effort of holding it up, and cast his mind back to the words Ori and Dwalin had used against the trolls. 

"Fine, then. I declare a spell battle," he said, the words clumsy on his lips. 

" _Limitlessss_ ," Gollum hissed his name, nearly bouncing with glee on his rock. 

" _Boundless_ ," Bilbo answered and gasped as the air around them grew heavy and suddenly warm. He didn't seem to need the light from his sword so much anymore for indeed the darkness had receded around them unnaturally. It didn't help him much, however, for beyond the edge of the lake and Gollum's rock the world had become suddenly featureless. He felt as if he had stepped into a void, a small space where only he and this manic creature existed. He swallowed again. 

Gollum cleared his throat and then spoke in the clearest voice he had managed yet. 

 

" _What has roots as nobody sees,_

_Is taller than trees Up, up, up it goes,_

_And yet never grows?"_

 

Every word summoned a metal link that collected and grew into a chain, circling menacingly around Bilbo's head. He stared at it, transfixed. As the moments passed it grew closer, slipping lower towards his shoulders and beginning to tighten. it was only when the metal grew close enough that he could feel the chill off it that his mind finally caught up, grasping desperately at an answer for the riddle. Because surely answering the riddle would stop this. He didn't dare think about what he would do if it didn't. 

"Mountain!" he gasped out. "A mountain! A mountain!" The length of chain stopped immediately and began to widen again. granting him space once more. Bilbo shivered, dragging in desperate lungfuls of air while the arm holding his sword shook visibly. When he looked up Gollum's face had fallen in decided disappointment but he recovered quickly enough. 

"Ask uss! Ask uss!," Gollum demanded, hopping in place. Bilbo only stared for a moment, not quite sure what to do. He had never had a Sacrifice before thirteen dwarves and a wizard showed up at his doorstep and the truth was that, beyond the most rudimentary lessons, he had no clue how to twist his words into weapons the way Gollum and Dwalin did. In the end he did the only thing he could think of: he offered a riddle of his own.

 

" _Thirty white horses on a red hill,_

_First they champ,_

_Then they stamp,_

_Then they stand still_."

 

Bilbo could hardly believe his luck when the spell began to take shape. It was different from Gollum's, golden threads in place of iron chains, but they formed all the same. Shining in the darkness they wove themselves around the skeletal body in thin lines. Gollum batted at one in a mix of agitation and curiosity only to drew back with a startled yelp. He held his hand close, though Bilbo could see no visible injury. The thread remained unbroken. 

"Well?" Bilbo asked, feeling rather too proud of himself. "What's your answer?" 

Gollum growled at the golden threads, beginning to encircle him in much the same way Gollum's own chains had done moments before. Those wide, reflective eyes narrowed and Bilbo had to struggle to hold onto his bravado in the face of such a malicious look. 

"Teethss!" Gollum snarled, gnashing his own for good measure. The threads halted where they were, just as Gollum's chain had. Bilbo blew out a breath and shifted his sword to his left arm as his right began to tremble with fatigue. He wondered if the others would chide him for using his off hand but his right was cramping and it wasn't as if he had any real skill with his "letter opener" anyway. 

Gollum giggled gleefully, as though this was only a friendly game over pints. The sound sent a sharp shiver down Bilbo's spine and he suddenly wondered if this was what happened to a being who lived on without their other half--if they were doomed to turn mad and wasted--or if Gollum was somehow a special case. He hoped quite fervently that he would never have to find out.

 

" _Voiceless it cries,_

_Wingless flutters,_

_Toothless bites,_

_Mouthless mutters_."

 

The words added more links to the chain and now it encircled Bilbo twice, spinning in a dizzying corkscrew around him. He watched it warily, thinking that if he allowed it too close it would pin his arms to his sides and then his sword would be worse than useless. There wasn't a doubt in the hobbit's mind that Gollum would pounce on him, battle etiquette be damned. Luckily, the answer came to him before the chains had time to close any distance around him. After all, it was the thing he missed most in this still cavern, after sunlight. 

"Wind!" Bilbo crowed, unable to keep the bright grin from his face. Gollum blew a raspberry in disgust and slouched on his perch. Invigorated by his easy answer, Bilbo cast his mind to the above world and spring time, surely things that Gollum had not known in years by the look of him. He licked his lips and pronounced his next spell carefully.

 

" _An eye in a blue face_

_Saw an eye in a green face._

_'That eye is like to this eye'_

_Said the first eye,_

_'But in low place_

_Not in high place.'_ "

 

Gollum hissed and spat like an angry cat as he thought, his grotesque tail twitching against the rock he sat on. Bilbo kept half an eye on him but was once more fascinated by the effect of his spell. More gossamer threads appeared, glowing pale gold with a light of their own. They wove into the previous strands, beginning to take shape in the beginnings of a kind of threadbare cocoon encircling Gollum. Bilbo thought it looked rather like his young cousin Primula's first awful attempts at knitting him a sweater some winters past. The thought nearly made him laugh, despite everything. 

The threads bound themselves tighter and closer the longer Gollum remained silent and now Bilbo did smile, perhaps a bit meanly. "Come now. I don't have all day, you know." 

"It must give us a moment, preciouss!" Gollum said with a dark scowl. If Bilbo had hoped that this riddle might stump the pale creature before him, however, he was soon mistaken as Gollum suddenly straightened with a mad glint in his eye. "Ah! Ah, it means sun on the daisies, it does, preciouss! It does!" Bilbo had no time to be disappointed, however, as Gollum launched into his next attack.

 

" _It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

_Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

_It lies behind stars and under hills,_

_And empty holes it fills._

_It comes first and follows after,_

_Ends life, kills laughter_."

 

The last line had Bilbo shivering, and not because the menacing chain encircling him had nearly doubled in length again. He wondered suddenly if Thorin could feel this Battle taking place the way Bilbo sensed other Fighters nearby. It occurred to him that he had never even asked what, if anything Thorin could sense from him. He glanced over his shoulder, at the dark opening he had stumbled through, and there, of course, was his answer. 

"The dark," Bilbo pronounced clearly. He noticed the chains did not back off quite so much this time and instead stayed in a tight circle around him. Not quite trapping him yet but close enough to make him feel a bit queasy. Gollum made no sound this time and when Bilbo looked up he found that the other Fighter was staring hard at him. Bilbo's own spell was keeping Gollum equally at bay, for the moment, but the poor hobbit thought again how Gollum would surely take the opportunity to attack if Bilbo allowed himself to be constrained. This needed to end, and soon, if he had any hope of making it out of this cave.

 

" _A box without hinges, key or lid,_

_Yet golden treasure inside is hid_."

 

As soon as he said it he knew it wasn't very good. It was too short and too easy and only a few new threads appeared, not nearly enough to make a difference. He cursed himself for rushing and felt rather like kicking himself besides when Gollum arrived at the answer only moments later. 

"Eggsss!" he cried, suddenly quite cheery once more. "We used to suck on them, _gollum_! We did!" 

"Indeed," Bilbo sighed. He moved to shift his sword again and realized with some alarm that he had barely the space to lift his right arm high enough to manage it. He tightened his damp grip on the shapely hilt, determined to answer the next riddle quickly. If he didn't he would surely be in real trouble.

 

" _Alive without breath,_

_As cold as death;_

_Never thirsty, ever drinking,_

_All in mail never clinking_."

 

Bilbo's mouth fell opened but no sound came out. His mind raced, but could make no sense of these scattered details. And now the spiral of chain stretched from shoulder to waist and was pressing ever closer. He suddenly found it hard to draw adequate breath. ' _I'm going to die down here,_ ' he thought, helplessly watching the chains advance, and almost as quickly his Tookish side chided him for the thought and bade him ' _Think harder, Baggins!_ ' It certainly didn't help that all the while Gollum was muttering about what a meal he would make. 

But Bilbo Baggins was a child of luck, indeed, for at that very moment a careless fish misjudged the shore, flopping slimy and cold onto his foot. Bilbo yelped and then fairly screamed, "Fish! The answer is fish! Fish!" He was near hysterical now, hemmed in by chains. They stopped but he could not take a step in any direction, they were so close. His poor little sword poked through the layers but he had little room to shift it, let alone swing or stab. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths through his nose to calm his racing heart. 

"Hurry! It has to hurry!" Gollum complained loudly and Bilbo shifted his foot enough to flip the landed fish back into the water with a wince. Gollum watched the movement but was nearly as immobilized as Bilbo. He crouched and twisted and finally gave a grunt of discontent when he realized he could not possibly squeeze beneath Bilbo's spell to retrieve the fish. 

"I do not," Bilbo spat back, opening his eyes again. "Just...give me a moment." He took his time, thinking back to the hardest riddles he remembered from his Took and Brandybuck cousins. Finally, he managed to pull one together, hoping that it would prove to be as tricky as he remembered.

 

" _No-legs lay on one-leg, two legs sat near on three legs, four legs got some_."

 

It was short, like his last spell, but there was apparently something to be said for difficulty for a good deal more threads appeared now, knitting themselves into place neatly. Bilbo watched the golden tapestry close in on Gollum, but it was only a moment before Gollum gave him one of his grimacing smiles and Bilbo realized his mistake, asking another riddle involving fish so soon. 

"Fish on a little one-legged table, man at table sitting on a three-legged stool, the cat gets the bones," Gollum declared, straightening and throwing his shoulders back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Sweat was beginning to gather, cold and clammy, on the back of Bilbo's neck. Gollum took a deep breath that made the visible ridges of his ribs expand.

 

" _This thing all things devours:_

_Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

_Gnaws iron, bites steel;_

_Grinds hard stones to meal;_

_Slays king, ruins town,_

_And beats high mountain down_."

 

Now the chain stretched from Bilbo's shoulders down to his knees and surrounded him with only inches to spare. He clenched his free hand until he could feel the dirty nails digging painfully into his palm. Gollum was still trapped on his rock but he crowed with delight, bouncing on his dirty toes and perking his bat-like ears up as he prattled on and on about his disgusting plans to eat Bilbo once he'd won. 

"A moment!" Bilbo pleaded, nearly yelping when he felt the first press of cold chain on either shoulder. "Give me more time!" 

The chains halted once more and Gollum let out a moan fit to make anyone think he'd been stabbed. The sound made Bilbo jump and for a long moment he couldn't for the life of him understand what had happened. Once he realized he might have collapsed in relief if the chains had but given him the room. Time, of course! 

"Ask uss!" Gollum growled, and the demand had none of the child-like excitement he had used before. Now there was only a predatory note in his gravelly voice. 

Still feeling shaken, Bilbo cast about for another riddle, but nothing came to mind. Gollum began to cough and hiss in his impatience, but the noise only further stopped Bilbo's mind. In desperation, he managed to shift his free arm up high enough to slip his fingers into his pocket, where something foreign and cold met his touch. 

"What do I have in my pocket?" he asked himself, or he meant to. When he looked up a final thread had appeared and his spell was wrapping around Gollum just as the chains had closed in around him. Gollum decried the unfairness of it, but the spell pressed in nonetheless and Bilbo could only watch, dumbfounded. When Gollum demanded he be allowed three guesses, Bilbo agreed without any real idea if the spell would allow for that or not. 

It did, apparently, and for every wrong guess Gollum gave the golden knitwear pressed closer, finally encasing him entirely. 

"String, or nothing!" Gollum finally howled. 

"Both wrong!" Bilbo shot back and then gasped as the chains around him crumbled to dust and fell away. Gollum, however, remained caught fast, growling and grumbling in misery as he tried to wriggle out of his golden prison, to no avail. Bilbo took a deep breath and gave himself a moment to shake out his arms before readying his sword once more. 

"I won. Now you must show me the way out, as promised," he said with far more strength than he felt. As he spoke the heaviness in the air around them dissolved. The Battle was concluded, and the golden threads faded to nothing. He braced himself, but Gollum did not attack him, only sat on his little rock, shaking and whispering to himself. His knobby fingers patted at the dirty covering about his hips for a moment. 

"Well, come on then," Bilbo prompted. Gollum raised his head and braced his hands against the rock, rising up on his haunches. 

"What has it got in itss pocketsses?" he growled. It was all the warning Bilbo got before the wretched creature pounced.


	5. Driven by Fear

 "You've told me I'm lost, that I have no business being here, that I am only a burden and a nuisance. But do you know what you've never said to me, Thorin Oakenshield? In all your griping, you have never once told me to leave your side." 

Thorin drew back, momentarily struck dumb by the hobbit's accusations. He blinked and allowed himself to look at his Fighter, really look. For weeks Thorin had been keeping the hobbit to the edges of his vision, as though he might likewise banish him to the edges of his mind, but it was clear now that he couldn't hope to keep that up. He took in the stern stance of fists on hips, ears standing tall and tail straight with defiance. But more than that, Thorin noticed the unruly frizz to the hobbit's unkempt curls, the stains on his fine jacket and waistcoat, the deep lines beneath those sharp eyes and the noticeable thinning of once-full cheeks. All marks of their journey; all hurts inflicted on a creature who was accustomed to comforts in life, and all of them Thorin's doing. 

His first instinct was to deny the hobbit's words, but he would only be denying the truth. He had, in fact, by turns ignored and insulted their burglar since leaving the Shire behind them some weeks ago. The entire Company had taken notice, in one fashion or another, and so there was really no use in arguing about it now. 

At first, it was the ears that irked him the most. More than just a mark of virginity, a dwarf's ears were a badge of innocence that was to be stripped away before one could be called an adult. He had barely allowed Kili to accompany them for that very reason, though Fili had made it clear his brother would be coming with or without their uncle's approval. And Ori...well...Dwalin could take care of Ori. 

Of course, though, there were those few dwarves who kept their ears simply because the urge or opportunity to lose them never came. Bofur was one such and Thorin didn't doubt his skill or loyalty for it (as Dwalin had pointed out to him numerous times), but even Bofur had the decency to hide the floppy things under his equally floppy hat. The very idea that his Fighter still sported tawny ears on his head, bared for all the world to see--! 

Then came the night of the trolls and Thorin found he didn't know quite what to think anymore. He could still remember the feeling of his heart in his throat when the hobbit was hoisted into the air, each limb held by a disgruntled troll. He could still feel the cold terror of realizing he might just have to watch his Fighter ripped to pieces before his very eyes. And he could still recall his embarrassment, and yes, even wonder, when that same hobbit recovered first of all of them and in fact saved them all. There could be no questioning his Fighter's bravery after that, to have been faced with death and kept his head afterwards to talk circles around a pack of trolls. Yet, above all it was the fear that stayed with him and Thorin found himself wishing more than ever that the insufferable hobbit would go back to his hobbit hole in the Shire and leave him be. 

He had almost dared hope that the hobbit might stay in Rivendell, infatuated as he seemed to be with the elves. But no, he had stolen away with them while the wizard was busy even whilst silent argument danced in his eyes whenever Thorin unwillingly caught his gaze. And then, again, Thorin had nearly lost him, nearly watched him fall to his death to be dashed against wet rock and of course he had snapped at the hobbit. Of course he had. Because didn't he see? Didn't he understand that he was going to get himself killed and Thorin would have to watch his other half die and for what? Bilbo Baggins of the Shire had no interest in Erebor or the Arkenstone. How could he? In truth, Thorin didn't know why he was here at all, unless it was for Thorin himself and that was a thought far too dangerous to entertain. 

And yet. 

And yet, his Fighter was right. In all that time, through all his frustration, Thorin had never truly told him to go. How could he? Thorin had made more sacrifices than he particularly cared to name in his life, but to banish his other half from his side after having only just found him? Neither fear nor pride could make Thorin Oakenshield do that. 

Thorin opened his mouth, an apology on his lips, but the hobbit shushed him suddenly, ears twitching. Annoyance flared to life in his breast at the interruption, but he never got the chance to retort for there was a deafening _crack_ and then they were falling.

 

***

 

The goblin tunnels were a rush of chaos. Gandalf's sudden reappearance may have saved them, but it also launched them into a crazed battle that was only half fighting and half racing blindly for an exit. All of Thorin's attention was focused on the movement of the elven sword rescued from the troll horde. Orcrist was ethereally light and responded effortlessly to his every move, feeling less like a sword and more like an extension of his very arm. He cut down goblins in droves as they ran, ducking and jumping and slashing on pure instinct as they barreled headlong into enemies. 

Suddenly, his vision dimmed and his ears rang and he tripped and would have fallen if Dwalin hadn't snagged a fistful of his coat and hauled him back to his feet. He caught his friend's gaze, heart hammering in his breast, and knew Dwalin was feeling it as well, though certainly less acutely. 

His Fighter had begun a Battle. 

Somewhere, not here, but not far off either. He glanced back as they ran (and would have lost his head in his distraction if not for Dwalin swinging Grasper and Keeper at his side) and his heart stuttered as he confirmed that yes, the hobbit was not with them. They'd lost him, at some point. He could hardly be sure when. But he was gone, and Battling something in the tunnels. Alone. 

Thorin faced forward again and threw himself at the advancing goblins with renewed ferocity, a battle cry escaping him unbidden to echo through the cavern. It wasn't right. No Fighter should have to Fight alone and especially not one as inexperienced as Bilbo Baggins. There was nothing to be done for it now, however. They had their own difficulties to focus on if they hoped to escape Goblin Town alive. All he could do was press on and hope that the hobbit's cleverness would save him once more. 

Thorin forced himself to focus, losing himself in his own battle and it was a decent enough distraction. He still felt it when the Battle ended, felt the emptiness it left in its wake, but by then there was light ahead of them and a dead Goblin King behind and he ignored everything but the need to keep his legs moving. 

Burst into fresh air and dying sunlight was like breaching water and Thorin sucked hungry draughts of air into his burning lungs. They didn't stop running until the ground leveled out and they were sure no goblins had braved the light to come after them. Thorin almost didn't want to stop, even as he slowed to a trot with the others. He pressed his back to a tree and closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to settle. Try as he might, though, his heart kept up its mad pace because even with his eyes closed he knew his hobbit wasn't here. Wasn't anywhere nearby, in fact. He could feel it in the terrible, cold void that had opened in his chest. 

He stayed that way, not even responding when Gandalf demanded to know what had become of their burglar.

 

***

 

He had never been so happy to see sunlight. Even though it was low and orange, Bilbo could feel the warmth of it on his skin as he squeezed through the doorway, scattering buttons in his wake. Grass and rock slipped beneath his rushing feet and more than once he nearly lost his footing entirely to go tumbling down into the valley below. Puffing along, the ground finally began to even out and trees sprung up here and there around him. 

He heard the others before he saw them--or rather heard Gandalf, demanding to know what had become of the hobbit. Bilbo's heart gave a jolt. They had made it out as well! But it plummeted to his toes the next moment when he realized there was no familiar ringing in his ears. He stumbled closer, nearly running into Balin. It was only when the snowy-haired dwarf didn't react that he even remembered his companions couldn't see him. He yanked the ring off, nearly fumbling it with numb fingers, and dropped it into his waistcoat pocket. 

"Here I am!" he announced breathlessly. And oh, but the moment the ring was gone the warmth of Thorin's presence flooded him once more as sure and strong as it had been that first night on his doorstep. He grinned at the group, eyes immediately falling on Thorin who was leaning against a tree and fixing him with one of his usual unreadable gazes. 

He fended off their questions as quickly as he could, Gandalf being the most persistent for details, of course, and all the while his gaze kept flicking back to Thorin. The dwarf seemed to be leaning against the tree rather heavily and for a moment Bilbo feared he was injured, but he straightened up soon enough and seemed to compose himself. 

"Why did you come back?" Bilbo managed not to shiver at the sound of Thorin's deep voice, but it was a near thing. He was holding Bilbo's gaze now, somehow both vulnerable and closed off at the same time in a feat the hobbit would never understand. Gandalf tried to interject but Thorin was persistent. "No, I need to know." 

Bilbo stared at him for a moment, feeling the gazes of the others but seeing only Thorin. Thorin the exiled prince and hopeful king, Thorin the warrior, Thorin the blacksmith, Thorin the other half of _Boundless_ and Bilbo's own Sacrifice. He licked his lips and he knew what he wanted to say, but somehow the words refused to come. So, instead, Bilbo cleared his throat and gave the best truth he could. 

"Because you've been right all along. I do think of my home, and I miss it, and you don't have one. A home. Because it was taken from you. And I want to help you get it back. If I can." It was halting and hesitant and still not what he had wanted to say but it seemed to satisfy. Thorin looked away, but even so Bilbo felt himself relax. He might have dared to say something else then, might even have made a fool of himself in front of them all, but a howl split the air and shot ice down his spine. The howl was followed by the savage cries of more wolves--"Wargs," Dwalin growled--and there was nowhere to go but to make for the trees.

Bilbo's face was lashed from needles and his hands were sticky with sap and he was clinging to a tree branch like a frightened squirrel the first time he saw the Pale Orc. Azog was massive and ten times more horrid than Balin had described in his late night stories. In his fear, Bilbo didn't immediately realize that his ears were ringing again, and when he did he sucked in a breath. The creature was mostly bare and yet Bilbo saw no Name carved into his milky skin. Somehow, he knew that this monster didn't need one. Azog was different. 

Azog had no name, because he had no partner. 

The thought itself sent a chill through Bilbo and he was suddenly achingly aware of the fact that he had hardly ever even touched Thorin, his own other half. Loneliness opened up inside him but he pushed it back savagely. "Not the time, honestly!" he hissed to himself. 

And then someone brushed past him, nearly stepping on his head, and he caught a glimpse of familiar steel toed boots and the hem of a dark blue coat. Bilbo's eyes widened as he watched Thorin's slow descent, watched how Azog stood, smirking and waiting, and felt his bowels turn to water. Gollum had taught him that any Fighter could Fight without his Sacrifice, but Thorin had no such luxury. A Sacrifice couldn't initiate a Battle, could do nothing, in fact, but take damage. Bilbo bit his lip so hard he tasted copper. 

He told himself that Thorin was a seasoned warrior, that Fighter or not Bilbo would only be in the way if he tried to help. He heard shuffling above him and dared to glance up. The branches blocked much of his view but he thought he saw Dwalin and Ori struggling in the branches above him, shouting something back and forth that Bilbo either couldn't hear or couldn't understand. 

He dropped his gaze just in time to watch Azog's great evil-looking mace come down on Thorin and suddenly all he could think about was Gollum, wasted and wretched and alone. Bilbo was scrambling down the tree before the cries of the others even reached him. Throin lay prone with Azog poised above him, ready to deliver a killing blow and Bilbo hit the ground running. He may not have been very big, but it turned out that even a hobbit could take down an orc when running full tilt and throwing themselves at the brute unawares. 

Azog tumbled sideways and they both went down hard. Bilbo narrowly missed taking the monster's twisted replacement for a hand in the gut and rolled away swiftly, stumbling back to his feet. He planted himself between the orc and Thorin, drawing his small glowing sword with a sharp twang that rang in the air. 

"I declare a spell battle!" he cried, and surprised himself with how little his voice quavered. Rather than attack right away, Azog regarded him with dark eyes, something like intrigue glinting in their depths. He spat something in his horrid black speech, but it must have been an affirmative because Bilbo felt the sudden charge to the air around him. He took a deep breath and then bellowed " _Boundless_!" 

The world narrowed down to the two of them, Bilbo and the orc, staring each other down. The moon and the stars lost their light and the sounds of the wargs, goblins and dwaves surrounding them died down to a murmur. They were on their own battlefield now. 

Bilbo gulped and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be one of Gollum's own riddles.

 

_"Voiceless it cries,_

_Wingless flutters,_

_Toothless bites,_

_Mouthless mutters!"_

 

Each word strung a gossamer thread of gold through the air to wind around the Pale Orc, crossing over his torso like the beginnings of a tapestry. Azog watched the spell take shape with calm eyes, almost bored, and then gave a smirk that showed his yellowed, broken teeth. He said something halting and gutteral in his own language, a sound like rocks sliding over one another, and then chains clamped around Bilbo's wrists, dragging downwards until his little sword pointed uselessly at the ground. The hobbit tried to yank his arms up, but every movement only tightened the metal's bite on his wrist until thin trickles of blood welled up around the dark fetters. 

His mind raced for another riddle but Bilbo was spared the effort when the atmosphere was suddenly shattered by a flaming pine cone that hit the ground between them and exploded. Bilbo gasped, choking as if he'd been doused in cold water. The damage was done to his wrists, but the restraints vanished and when he looked up so too were his threads around the Pale Orc. 

Someone was shouting about eagles and then pain laced through Bilbo's shoulders as he was suddenly grabbed in the talons of a massive bird. He very nearly dropped his sword in his surprise but managed to hold onto it. His stomach rolled as the ground dropped away but he tried to twist in the tight grasp all the same, braving the height to look back for Thorin. 

"Stop squirming!" the bird admonished with a squawk. "You're all safe, now be still or I'll drop you." 

And indeed, there was Thorin, limp and too still but clutched in another bird's grasp all the same. Bilbo did relax then, or rather what energy he had left seemed to drain from his body all at once. He clutched his sword closed and squeezed his eyes tight, trying not to think about the long drop beneath his dangling feet least he be sick all over himself to top it all off.

 

***

 

He couldn't know how long they flew. The world seemed to shift around Bilbo with the wind, like being caught in a dream. He had had no rest since Rivendell, after all, and so much running and fearing for his life in between. 

And two Battles. 

In truth, fighting Azog had been rather stupid. Gollum's game had taken much more out of him than he might have expected. It had been his first true spell battle after all, but he had not imagined it would leave him feeling as if he had run clear from Bag End to Crickhollow and back. And then to immediately rush into a second Fight...there had been no choice but even so, his limbs felt terribly weight down and his head kept nodding forward despite the claws pinching at his shoulders. 

Ground brushed his toes quite before he was ready for it and he fell painfully to his knees as the talons suddenly released. Bilbo stumbled up on aching legs, dimly aware that his poor tail was still aching and crooked unnaturally. Pain bit at his wrists when he moved them, the cuffs on his jacket damp and sticking to his skin. 

He turned slowly, half in a daze, on the wide rock they had been deposited on. Thorin was laid down a few feet away, but quickly swallowed by a swarm of dwarves. Gandalf pushed through them but Bilbo hung back. He couldn't quite get his limbs to cooperate. Every inch of his body was battered and bruised and moving any further was simply an impossibility. It was all he could do to stay upright, swaying slightly on his feet. 

"Where is the hobbit?" 

That was Thorin's voice and oh, but it was good to hear. Better than good. Bilbo let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, his entire body trembling in relief mingled with exhaustion. 

"Bilbo is here," murmured Gandalf and then there was a warm hand on his shoulder and Bilbo was pulled forward, stumbling into a sudden opening in the crowd of dwarves to stand before Thorin. He looked about as bad as Bilbo felt, battered and bruised with blood running down his face and the poor hobbit could feel his breath quickening at the evidence of just how close Thorin had come to the knife edge between life and death. 

Thorin was practically growling at him, spitting insults, but Bilbo wasn't listening. Instead he let his ears fill with the tingling ring of Thorin's presence, basking in it. There was a second tone from Dwalin and Ori's presence, of course, but Bilbo knew the difference by now: knew the feeling of Thorin's proximity, the evidence that his heart still beat. 

"I have never been so wrong in all my life," Thorin said with a husky tone to his voice and Bilbo looked up, caught off guard by the words. He caught a glimpse of Thorin's face, of how it had crumpled into an expression of pure affection, before heavy arms wrapped around him. 

Bilbo gasped when they touched, fire racing through his veins. He's abused knees trembled and he would have fallen if not for the embrace. He could feel it now, the thing that had been missing all his life, a connection like a physical length of rope between them. He buried his face in the fur of Thorin's collar and used the very last of his strength to raise his own arms, gripping at the back of the filthy blue coat. Bilbo was filled to the brim with the feeling of sunlight on a lazy summer day spent in his garden, of every wonderfully comfortable thing he had ever known in his life and more besides. 

So contented, Bilbo Baggins fainted for the second time since joining the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

 

***

 

Holding the hobbit close, all Thorin was aware of for those few precious moments was the thunderous beating of his own heart. How could he have ever dismissed this wonderful creature as weak, as unworthy? They were bound together and he should have know it was for a reason. He had spoken true and he had never been so very glad to be proven wrong besides. 

It was Gandalf's sudden cry that made him realize Bilbo had gone limp in his arms. The wizard nearly yanked the hobbit from his grasp and had Thorin been less injured he may have finally lost his temper once and for all with the infuriating wizard. As it was, his hold was embarrassingly weak and Gandalf had no great trouble extricating the hobbit. 

The wizard crouched, half cradling Bilbo, and only then did Thorin get a good look at the damage. Bilbo was terribly pale and lay eerily still in Gandalf's grasp. His ears were limp, nearly lost in the sea of tawny curls and Thorin realized the hobbit's wonderfully expressive tail was bent in the middle at an unnatural angle. But where his eyes lingered longest was on the angry wounds peeking out just at the edges of Bilbo's sleeves, puffy red lines that oozed blood onto soft palms. 

"Bilbo, you fool," Gandalf whispered, but it was said with the affection of a parent. The wizard laid a hand across Bilbo's damp brow and closed his eyes and was silent for a moment. 

"Gandalf?" Thorin asked when he could take the silence no more. The wizard let out the breath he had been holding and removed his hand. 

"He pushed himself too far, but he will recover with rest," the wizard announced, bowing his head for a moment in his own relief. 

"He barely even got started with that pale bastard," Dwalin said, spitting to the side for good measure at the mention of Azog. Gandalf shook his head, still looking down at Bilbo with a fond glint in his eye. 

"No, I think there is more to it than that. Something must have happened in the goblin tunnels..." The wizard hummed to himself and gave Thorin a glance that at once had the dwarf feeling inexplicably like a he was only 50 again. Then Gandalf seemed to make a decision, shifting Bilbo in his arms and standing with the limp hobbit cradled against his chest. 

"I know of a place near here where we might rest for a day or two. The home of a friend," he said. "Indeed, he likely already knows we are here for he watches his lands quite vigilantly." 

Another friend. More charity to rely on and another unknown to bring into their quest. Thorin didn't have to look to feel the shift in the Company, all of them expecting an argument. Stubborn as granite he might be, but even Thorin knew when they needed rest. They had lost their supplies and much of their spirit in the goblin tunnels. His eyes rested on Bilbo's still form again and he nodded. 

"Lead the way."

 

***

 

When Bilbo next woke, it was in a cozy corner on a nest of sweet smelling hay. He lay without opening his eyes, only breathing deeply. Pain lingered throughout his body, but the worst of it seemed to have been soothed. He could feel stiff bandages at his wrists and a splint strapped to his injured tail, but neither injury seemed to hurt so very much anymore. The weight he had seemed to carry at the end of each limb earlier had largely evaporated as well. A dull throbbing at his temple announced his lingering exhaustion, but overall he was feeling much refreshed. 

He was cautious to crack his eyes opened, mindful of any possible painful lights. He need not have feared, however, for it was nighttime and not even a candle disturbed the dark. Now that he listened for it he recognized the snoring of dwarves around him, though they had all seemed to give him a wide berth in their sleeping arrangements. They seemed to be in some truly odd combination of a cabin and a barn and while the effect was quite cozy, Bilbo could not say that he had ever seen anything quite like it before. 

He shifted and realized there was a wooden plate at his elbow bearing a great bun covered in sticky honey and a tankard of water. He devoured the bun in short order, licking his fingers clean having long ago lost all regard for manners after weeks of traveling with dwarves, and drank from the tankard in greedy gulps. When it was all gone he felt much better for it and also ready to go back to sleep. 

Rolling carefully onto his side, Bilbo shifted in the warm hay until he found the most comfortable spot, marveling that the pile of loose bedding could feel every bit as comfortable as his feather mattress at home. Food and drink had eased the ache in his head somewhat and he smiled sleepily when he recognized the soft ringing that had become an undertone to his life over the last few weeks, proof that Thorin was somewhere in the room as well, safe and alive. Sleep was quick to overtake him after that and he drifted off once more, never noticing the dwarf that sat propped against the adjacent wall, watching him all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically I came back to work the Monday after the New Year to an announcement that I would be losing my job. It was less an immediate and more an inevitable kind of thing, but it still turned my world upside down for the last month. I tried so hard to get this chapter out but writing was just impossible while my life remained so uncertain. But! It's all better now! I have a new job lined up and it should be far, far less stressful than my current one and finally everything is back in working order again in my life. So sorry for the delay, but if the Universe is done laughing at me for a while we should be good now. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. You guys brighten my day more than you realize, this last month especially.


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